


nexilis

by starpuff



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Pining Oikawa Tooru, Reader-Insert, Sad Oikawa Tooru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25543963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starpuff/pseuds/starpuff
Summary: For a known playboy, it surprises even himself how easy it is to fall in love.[in which Oikawa Tooru falls, falls, and falls.]
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 154
Collections: Haikyuu





	nexilis

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: happy VERY late birthday to my favorite pancake boy

For a known playboy, it surprises even himself how easy it is to fall in love.

It's what scientists like to call a chain reaction: dominoes falling, flames travelling across a piece of wood, crystallites forming off each other in rapid succession. In other words, that's how it feels when Oikawa first sees you.

You were a bundle of scarves and mittens rushing onto the train last minute, puffs of air leaving your mouth and dissipating into the cold. Cheeks flushed, you move to the nearest available seat: straight across from him.

He sways a bit as the train begins to move. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, still out of breath, and proceed to look outside as the station grows further and further away. There is a glow to you, and Oikawa isn’t sure if it’s from the backlight of the window or if it’s his mind’s own creation. 

Iwaizumi looks up from his phone and follows his gaze, giving him a dry look. "Stop being creepy."

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa exclaims, a hand on his heart. "You wound me!"

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi looks back at his phone. "Then stop looking at our classmate like that."

"Classmate?"

Oikawa looks again to see the Seijoh uniform peeking through your winter coat.

Iwaizumi sighs. "She was in our homeroom last year."

Oikawa tilts his head, frowning as he tries to remember seeing your face in the halls. He doesn't think he'd forget such a sight, but you end up blurred in his memories, caught between the faces of his fans that swarm him at every possible moment and the squeak of shoes and balls on hardwood gym floors that fill the spaces in between.

He wonders if he should say hello—introduce himself—but you seem so peaceful, so lost in thought while looking out the window that it seems wrong to interrupt the moment. His sentiments don't go unnoticed, however, and you catch his gaze, a confused look in your eyes. You give him a small smile and nod in polite greeting.

Oikawa thinks his heart stops.

The train hisses to a halt and you stand, waving at him before merging with the crowd of people getting off at the stop.

He feels a sudden urge to go after you, along with a small plea. _Wait, don’t go._

Oikawa catches himself, and a flurry of emotions run through him at once. Some call it fascination, others call it curiosity, while the remaining few call it yearning. He thinks it's a jumbled mess of all three, and he finds himself drawn to just the thought of you, like tides to the moon.

Oikawa makes a silent resolution to himself, watching you leave that day, to find you again.

\---

Despite his intentions, it seems you find him first.

"You're Oikawa Tooru, right?"

You're at his desk, giving him that same smile from the train. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel his palms getting the slightest bit sweaty.

Oikawa nods at your question, his voice coming out easier than expected. "I am! What can I do for you?"

"Ah, well…" You look away, a little embarrassed. "Iwaizumi-san said you would be open to helping me with math?"

He blinks once. Twice.

The entire class's eyes are on you, waiting for his next move.

You take his silence as refusal, and you start backtracking frantically. "I mean, if you're not that's completely fine, too! I wouldn't want to pressure you or anything, but it's just for the exams that are coming up, I swear—"

"I'll do it."

"Huh?"

"I'll tutor you, I mean."

Oikawa sends a mental _thank you_ to Iwaizumi as a sparkle appears in your eyes. Your smile gets bigger until you almost can't contain it, and you grasp his hands in a swift motion. He's _very_ glad he chose to dry his palms on his pants before agreeing.

"Thank you so much!" Oikawa can feel the glares of his fanclub behind the classroom door, but he can't seem to bring himself to care at the moment.

He smiles, softer than usual. "Of course."

You make plans to meet after practice, and it goes better than he could have expected.

At some point during the lesson, you lean in closer to get a clearer look at the paper, and Oikawa almost stops breathing. You’re oblivious to his brain short circuiting, instead trying to figure out the equations written down with your eyebrows scrunched and your lips pursed. He hopes you can’t hear his pulse racing.

Oikawa noticed it in the classroom and he notices it here now: there is a perceptiveness when you look at him, as if you see right through him. Not the popular volleyball captain or the notorious playboy, but just him—Oikawa Tooru. It excites him, the gaze of a person who sees him as a person rather than their makeshift symbol, and he wants to know more. Experience more.

He somehow manages to finish the lesson without getting too distracted, much to his relief. As you organize your books into your bag, you turn to him. “Do you think we could meet again the day after tomorrow?”

Oikawa gives you an apologetic glance, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I can’t. There’s a volleyball game that day.”

Your eyes light up with what he assumes to be realization. “Oh, of course! That’s no problem, how about this Saturday?”

“Sounds good,” he smiles.

You say your goodbyes at the front gate, and you seem to be contemplating something as you walk away. Oikawa is tempted to ask, but refrains from it, his mind already half-filled with the drills he plans to do before he goes home.

He doesn’t think too much of it after, until he finds a container with a note on his desk the next day.

Opening it, the container is filled with rolls of homemade milk bread, lined up neatly in rows. He picks up the note to read the words carefully written in pen:

_Good luck for your match tomorrow!_

_Hit it till it breaks_ ᕙ(`▽´)ᕗ

He won’t admit how he feels in that moment to anyone but you. Well, maybe Iwaizumi, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and his underclassmen. Okay, maybe that day he brags about the present to the entire volleyball team, but he can’t help it. The memory of it sets the butterflies free, his chest bursting with warmth that envelopes him, so pronounced yet intangible, like his fingertips are longing to touch something they can never fully grasp.

Oikawa folds it carefully and tucks it into his pocket. With you, his heart is on his sleeve.

\---

One would expect his confession to come in words, maybe a grand romantic getaway where he could declare his love under the light of a thousand stars, or even a clichė rooftop scene with a love letter in hand.

Instead, the reality of it all comes in the form of a single action: a kiss.

It seems too simple, too abrupt, but it is anything but. For Oikawa, it seems like it couldn't have come soon enough.

He had invited you over to teach him how to make milk bread, after months of containers and notes before games. You agreed readily, not suspecting anything of it, and so the afternoon continued as usual. That is until he got distracted from your warm breath on his neck as you looked over his shoulder and poured an overflow of flour into the bowl, a giant cloud of white billowing upwards.

“Shit, sorry—” Oikawa turns and finds himself starstruck.

Afternoon golden light streams through the kitchen window, bouncing off the slow falling powder still in the air. Some settles on your hair and face, a soft snow subtly masking the color that blooms on your cheeks.

If seeing you on that train was the spark of the chain reaction, this is the product. Standing in the kitchen, a mess in every aspect of the word, this is his answer. This is his home.

His hand reaches out to cup your face, thumb grazing your cheek to brush off some of the flour. He leans in, looking into your eyes. The air stills.

A thousand words are said in none at all.

Oikawa’s lips meet yours in an instant, his hand on the small of your back as he pulls you closer. Pressed up against him, he can’t help but feel like you were meant to be, the way you tighten your grip on the back of his shirt as you melt into the kiss. You taste of sugar and vanilla, and it seems nothing will ever compare to you in his arms.

_I love you_ , Oikawa thinks in bliss. _I love you_ —

You pull away for a moment; your words come breathless and whispered. 

“I love you.”

\---

Graduation comes and goes, a fleeting ordeal.

Everyone goes their separate ways, Iwaizumi going to the opposite side of the world to fulfill his dreams. Oikawa doesn’t know what to do—whether to continue his passion for volleyball or not—but with you at his side, anything seems possible.

On a Sunday morning he wakes up with you by his side, still sleeping off what is left of the night before. He calls your name gently, once then twice. You stir slightly, opening one eye slowly.

“Yes, Tooru?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, voice warm and hopeful. “Move in with me?”

You blink away the rest of the sleep. “Really?”

Oikawa nods, absolutely endeared.

“Of course!” The answer comes without hesitation.

\---

Oikawa works hard—so, so hard. He works until his muscles give out and his skin breaks, until his hands are stinging and his ears are buzzing from the all consuming exhaustion that plagues him. He hears the repeated booms of the ball slamming against the floor echoing in his head. The night is still young, he rationalizes, and his skills are not yet polished enough to leave, even as his knee radiates a familiar dull pain. It is not enough.

He wants to reach the top, touch the sky, even if he is a sprout rooted to the ground; he is tired of eagles and crows mocking him as they spread their wings and soar, like they could never understand the mere possibility of being born flightless. 

Bloom his talents, polish his instincts. That has been his motto for as long as he could remember. It seems there is no path left but forward.

He picks another ball from the cart and serves.

Oikawa comes home when the sun has long finished setting, where dinner has cooled even with the plastic wrap carefully placed over it, to you dozing on the couch, the T.V. casting a soft glow as it quietly plays in front of you. He comes home to a you that loves someone who fears he doesn't deserve it.

It is exactly this fear that causes him to break first one day, what he thinks to be this façade that you both are playing. Him, the one whose only vice is harmless determination. You, the one who loves out of pity.

"Tooru," you say, watching him as he limps across the room. His knee buckles a bit, and he catches himself on the kitchen table. There is no plate of cold dinner that rattles. You knew better than to expect him to come home early after a game like today's. "You can't keep doing this." 

Oikawa cannot see the worry in your eyes, the hand that is reaching out to help him. All he hears is _mockery_ , yet another bird playing charity for a sapling who cannot leave the soil. Oikawa snaps. 

“We _lost. Again._ ” The words are heavy on his tongue. “How can you tell me to stop when I don’t have the time or luxury to?”

“ _Tooru_ ,” you say again, your body tensing as it senses the change in the air. “You’re hurting yourself, you need to rest.”

“ _Rest_.” Oikawa scoffs, ignoring the hurt that flits across your face at his tone. He is too many losses deep to fake his feelings anymore. “What is resting going to do? It's keeping me _stagnant_ , keeping me from improving, and you want me to _rest_?"

"I want you to stop overworking yourself! This isn’t going to help, Tooru!”

A thought occurs to him with a sudden gravity that he can't immediately process. It clings to him, suffocates him, filling his mind with such deep certainty that he doesn't bother second guessing it. Not at this moment.

"You want me to stay weak," he breathes.

You still, as if trying to understand exactly what it is he just said. "What?"

Oikawa laughs, everything becoming clearer in an instant. It all makes sense. _It all makes so much sense._

"Do you enjoy playing _'Savior?'_ '" he sneers. Confusion flashes across the hurt on your face.

"I don't understand—"

"Do you like having a boyfriend who you feel superior to? You think you're doing me a favor, right? Staying with me while I'm trying to reach for a goal that should be impossible for someone ordinary like me?"

"Tooru, you know that's not true!"

"Do I? The way you tell me to stop, keeping me from getting better, you want me to stay below you so you can pretend you're the hero, the saint! _I see the way you look at me_ —"

_"I love you!_ " Your eyes are glistening and it hurts just to look at. Your hands are clenched into fists like they always are when you cry, because he knows you hate to cry, especially in front of people, and a part of him hidden behind his frustration hates that he's making you like this. "I love you, I'll always love you—"

"No you don't," Oikawa says, and immediately his heart lurches, because he needs to stop, _yes you do_ , he knows how much you do he can't even contain it, but he can't keep the words born from bitterness from spilling past his lips. "If you did, you wouldn't be holding me back."

You stare at him, speechless. A moment passes, then two, and every instinct in him is telling him to _apologize_ , to run to you and kiss away the tears trailing down your cheeks, but his feet remain planted.

"Okay," you say softly. "Okay."

You turn and enter your shared bedroom, coming out with a duffel bag he knows is filled with your belongings. Passing him, you wipe your tears as you reach for the doorknob, pausing for just a second.

_Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I love you, please_ —

_"_ Good bye, Tooru."

The door slams shut.

\---

He fucked up. 

Oikawa realizes this somewhere in his drunken haze as he downs his fourth can of beer that night, about to call for your name the sixth time that week before remembering that you had left. He thinks he hears your voice sometimes—a mumble beside him when he wakes up to be met with a bed that is much too big, a quiet hum from a bathroom that is empty.

Iwaizumi calls some time between dusk and dawn, when Oikawa is mindlessly switching between T.V. channels.

“Iwa-chan!” he chimes in his regular teasing manner, a grin on his face. “I didn’t know you were awake, what time is it in California?”

“Oikawa.” 

It’s all he says, and the line goes quiet. Iwaizumi doesn’t call him Shittykawa or Trashykawa, doesn’t yell at him for being awake when daybreak is near. Oikawa’s smile drops as easily as it appears.

“I messed up, Iwa-chan.”

“I know. She called me.” 

Just the very mention of you has Oikawa almost in tears. He hasn’t seen you since that night; he wonders how it would feel to hear your voice again, even over the phone. A million questions go through his mind on what to ask: _What did she say? Did she ask about me? Did she sound as terrible as I’m feeling now?_

In the end, he settles for, “How is she?”

“How do you think?” Oikawa can sense the irritation in the words, and he knows Iwaizumi has already called him a shitty guy a hundred times in preparation for this call. Not that he can blame him.

"I don't," he begins, then stops; Oikawa breathes, and starts again. "I don't know what to do."

Iwaizumi lets out a slow sigh, static crackling on the line. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"When are you not?" 

"Funny." His eye roll can be heard from continents away

Oikawa smiles a bit, his first real one in a while.

"I think," Iwaizumi says carefully, and Oikawa realizes he is going to hear the exact conclusion he's been wanting to avoid. "You should give her time."

He rests his head in his hand, eyes closed as he mulls over his friend's words.

Giving you time means waiting. There is uncertainty in it, no clear limit for how long he should wait. Until you've thought things through? Until you decide to start answering his calls and texts again? There is forgiveness on the line, and there is no guarantee that you will do even that. Not after what he said. Not after he made you cry like _that_.

_Can you tell her,_ he wants to say. _Can you tell her I love her?_

He has no right.

"You fucked up, Oikawa."

His heart hurts even more than the dull pounding in his head. 

"Yeah."

\---

Oikawa tries to move on, at least somewhat.

He gives up the possibility of seeking out an actual relationship. He knows nothing will replace the way you looked at him or the sound of your laugh. No one can smile at him or say his name the way you can. To Oikawa, even months after the break up, this is a fact, as certain as the earth rotating around the sun. 

Instead, he tries to use another method of coping. It’s just a warm body, something to help distract him, at least for a night. He meets them from whatever party he chooses to attend that week, when he's not too busy with volleyball or school work.

The first time he does it, the girl is smitten the minute he walks up to her. There is loose conversation, a sort of easy flirtation that reminds him of his high school days before he met you. She giggles and Oikawa slides on a smile, saccharine sweet words to go with it. It's like pouring syrup over splintered bark, but he chooses to ignore that feeling over the loud bass pounding in his ears and the light buzz from his drink. He takes her home and makes it clear there are no strings attached. Oikawa is hopeful, thinking maybe this will take his mind off things for a while.

He tries to forget, how your voice subtly cadences when you're close to finishing, how your hips stutter just slightly when he reaches your sweet spot, how you run your fingers through his hair and lightly tug, your own way of teasing.

There is a gentleness that is lacking, akin to finishing a puzzle with a piece much too small for a gap much too big.

She gives him a wink as she stands, clasping on the bra she had thrown on the ground. “Let me know if you want a round two, Oikawa.”

He sees her at the next party he attends, and he goes home with someone else.

Iwaizumi calls, occasionally, just to check up. Oikawa likes to think that he's homesick and in need of the company of his best friend, but Iwaizumi pretends to gag and subjects him to a string of profanities involving his name when he brings it up. He gives him a cheeky remark and the topic is done.

Oikawa talks of his latest flings, choosing to ignore the sounds of disapproval coming from the other side. He ignores a lot of things, like how Iwaizumi points out that his descriptions of the girls end up sounding like he's describing you, or how he almost slips and says your name when another girl is saying his.

It doesn't matter, because no matter how similar they look to you, they will never actually _be_ you.

This is a concept he struggles to grasp the first few nights, sobbing and heaving on the floor of his bathroom drunk out of his mind. It would have been a miracle if he made it one night without looking at old pictures of you. Now, he just sits on his couch watching shows he used to enjoy with a space next to him that is empty, knowing it won't ever be filled.

A word comes to mind: _loneliness_.

Oikawa wonders if this is his punishment for taking his happiness for granted.

"I miss you," he says, quietly. There's no one left to hear him.

\---

In a long stream of events, Oikawa decides to move to Argentina. He thinks it would do him some good, to get away from it all for a while, put all his attention to volleyball in a fresh new environment.

He sets his mind to other things, like learning the language and the culture, making friends with the people on his team, and slowly, Oikawa begins to heal. His chest stops aching when he makes your homemade milk bread, he doesn't linger on your face when he sees old pictures anymore, and the ghost of you stops haunting him.

Oikawa learns to deal with the emptiness you left. His heart weaves itself back together—not perfectly, not without gaps, but it does so all the same. He realizes this somewhere along the way, when he looks at the night sky and doesn’t wonder if you’re seeing the same stars he is; Oikawa decides it’s time to come back and visit home.

But ‘ _home’_ was always a person, not a place, and _‘home’_ was always you. He pushes this thought away as he walks through the streets of his old neighborhood, because Oikawa tells himself he could always find a new home, somewhere he feels safe and loved like he did back then, and suddenly—

"Tooru?"

You find him; he finds you.

He turns and it's like time stops. There is a small smile, a little wave, a familiar soft sort of glow, and _god_.

For Oikawa Tooru, it surprises absolutely no one that he is still in love with you.

**Author's Note:**

> find & talk to me on tumblr! @star-puff :)


End file.
